Dead in the Water (Olivia Grant Mysteries Book 1) by Phyllis A. Humphrey
Book: Dead in the Water (Olivia Grant Mysteries Book 1) by Phyllis A. Humphrey
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Authors: Phyllis A. Humphrey
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According to the latest magazines, fashion at home leaned toward making women look like something out of Star Wars , but I assumed London shops would have some simple, classic outfits, say a pleated plaid skirt—they called them tartans—and a cashmere sweater to go with it. Something suitable for an English woman like myself. Right. Instead, on Bond Street, I found myself trying on a slinky little black number that made my extra pounds magically disappear. As the sales clerk put the considerable sum on my American Express card, I watched with a boatload of guilt and wondered where I would ever wear the dress. Although black, it definitely couldn't be worn to Noreen's funeral.
I left the shop carrying a trendy-looking silver bag and then, as if I hadn't indulged myself enough for one day, bought an ice cream. English ice cream is richer than American, supposedly because they still have Jersey cows. Anyway, I didn't want to look like those skinny rich women whose major food was probably low-fat toothpaste.
During the train ride back, my mind returned to Noreen, and I wondered if I might be obsessed with trying to turn an accident into murder. Was I gnawing on this particular bone for my own selfish reasons? To be smarter than the police? To prove my self-worth after the debilitating divorce?
No. I wanted to see justice served. I also wanted to help my family. Because it occurred to me I had another reason to try to solve the mystery of Noreen's demise. What if she'd become involved in something shady or even illegal? What if she'd had to be silenced because she knew too much? Furthermore, what if the murderer, Mister X, thought she might have given this dangerous information to someone else in the family and tried to kill again? Didn't I owe it to everyone to uncover this person and bring him to justice before that happened?
Warming to my theory, I made plans for how I would go about investigating the crime I had so brilliantly deduced. First, I'd tackle Alice, who knew the most about the household. Then I'd question everyone else about Noreen's habits. I'd cleverly ferret out clues they didn't even know existed. By the time the taxi stopped in the mansion driveway, I had constructed several fascinating conversations in my head.
However, my plan went on hold when I saw a strange car parked in front and found Inspector Kincaid standing inside the great hall, holding a large box and speaking to Aunt Alice. His sergeant, the young man who had taken notes when Kincaid questioned us about Noreen's death, also held a large box.
Alice turned to me. "Ah, Olivia, look, the kind inspector has returned all the papers he took from the office the other day. Jason will be so relieved." She returned her gaze to the inspector. "Do come this way."
They smiled and followed Alice into the office.
I'd reached the stairs when I had a sudden thought. I'd been handed a perfect opportunity to talk to Kincaid about my theory that Mister X had killed Noreen. Of course, first I'd have to find out if such a person existed, as well as why and how he killed her, but meanwhile I'd get as much information as possible out of Kincaid. I remembered why I wanted to become a private detective. Puzzling over a riddle pushed my adrenaline level to new heights.
I left the silver bag on the stairs and hurried toward the office. The men were coming out. "Inspector Kincaid, may I have a minute?"
"Of course."
He told the sergeant to wait in the car, and I led him toward the small sitting room, invited him in, and closed the door. He sat in a side chair, and I took the sofa.
"How may I help you?" he asked.
"It's about Noreen's, er, death."
"Most unfortunate."
"You think it was accidental because she was intoxicated?"
"So far we've found nothing to suggest otherwise."
"Do you remember my asking you during our last conversation about her dog, Mr. Tarkington?"
"Yes, I recall you said she frequently took the dog for a walk in the
According to the latest magazines, fashion at home leaned toward making women look like something out of Star Wars , but I assumed London shops would have some simple, classic outfits, say a pleated plaid skirt—they called them tartans—and a cashmere sweater to go with it. Something suitable for an English woman like myself. Right. Instead, on Bond Street, I found myself trying on a slinky little black number that made my extra pounds magically disappear. As the sales clerk put the considerable sum on my American Express card, I watched with a boatload of guilt and wondered where I would ever wear the dress. Although black, it definitely couldn't be worn to Noreen's funeral.
I left the shop carrying a trendy-looking silver bag and then, as if I hadn't indulged myself enough for one day, bought an ice cream. English ice cream is richer than American, supposedly because they still have Jersey cows. Anyway, I didn't want to look like those skinny rich women whose major food was probably low-fat toothpaste.
During the train ride back, my mind returned to Noreen, and I wondered if I might be obsessed with trying to turn an accident into murder. Was I gnawing on this particular bone for my own selfish reasons? To be smarter than the police? To prove my self-worth after the debilitating divorce?
No. I wanted to see justice served. I also wanted to help my family. Because it occurred to me I had another reason to try to solve the mystery of Noreen's demise. What if she'd become involved in something shady or even illegal? What if she'd had to be silenced because she knew too much? Furthermore, what if the murderer, Mister X, thought she might have given this dangerous information to someone else in the family and tried to kill again? Didn't I owe it to everyone to uncover this person and bring him to justice before that happened?
Warming to my theory, I made plans for how I would go about investigating the crime I had so brilliantly deduced. First, I'd tackle Alice, who knew the most about the household. Then I'd question everyone else about Noreen's habits. I'd cleverly ferret out clues they didn't even know existed. By the time the taxi stopped in the mansion driveway, I had constructed several fascinating conversations in my head.
However, my plan went on hold when I saw a strange car parked in front and found Inspector Kincaid standing inside the great hall, holding a large box and speaking to Aunt Alice. His sergeant, the young man who had taken notes when Kincaid questioned us about Noreen's death, also held a large box.
Alice turned to me. "Ah, Olivia, look, the kind inspector has returned all the papers he took from the office the other day. Jason will be so relieved." She returned her gaze to the inspector. "Do come this way."
They smiled and followed Alice into the office.
I'd reached the stairs when I had a sudden thought. I'd been handed a perfect opportunity to talk to Kincaid about my theory that Mister X had killed Noreen. Of course, first I'd have to find out if such a person existed, as well as why and how he killed her, but meanwhile I'd get as much information as possible out of Kincaid. I remembered why I wanted to become a private detective. Puzzling over a riddle pushed my adrenaline level to new heights.
I left the silver bag on the stairs and hurried toward the office. The men were coming out. "Inspector Kincaid, may I have a minute?"
"Of course."
He told the sergeant to wait in the car, and I led him toward the small sitting room, invited him in, and closed the door. He sat in a side chair, and I took the sofa.
"How may I help you?" he asked.
"It's about Noreen's, er, death."
"Most unfortunate."
"You think it was accidental because she was intoxicated?"
"So far we've found nothing to suggest otherwise."
"Do you remember my asking you during our last conversation about her dog, Mr. Tarkington?"
"Yes, I recall you said she frequently took the dog for a walk in the
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